I Shot The Sheriff, AND The Deputy, And 85 Others
by falcon-121
Summary: When the team has to arrest one of their own, how will they continue on?  *One-shot* *DISCLAIMER* I do not own CM and I do not have a beta.  I won't specify a character in the description because I don't want to give it away...


**AN: I've had an idea of writing one of the team as a serial killer for a long time. I may still follow through on that, but if I do, it will be a while yet. However, I thought that I could morph this idea into a rather interesting (and hopefully intense, chilling, or both) one-shot. This will only be a one-shot, I will not continue onward with this. However, I may revisit the idea of a team member as the Unsub again someday. If I do, it will be much more in-depth, but now is not the time (I have three unfinished projects right now, and at least three others that I probably shouldn't be so quick to give up on). *DISCLAIMER* I do not own Criminal Minds. This fic has been poorly proofread by myself and only myself, so feel free to yell at me for mistakes if you like. **

There was a glint in her eye as she was led past Emily Prentiss. It was a glint that Prentiss had only seen from the lowest of the low, and she could only describe it as a sickness. Unfortunately, this wasn't an ailment that a doctor could defeat. She had spent the last four hours denying that this was happening, but one glint opened her eyes to the truth.

"I want to observe," said Penelope Garcia, who had just entered the bullpen. Prentiss dragged herself from her own thoughts just enough to respond.

"No, you really don't, Garcia."

"Yes, I do. I have to. She's my best friend. She didn't do this. I don't know how this happened, but she didn't do this."

Tears were already starting to well in her eyes. It broke Prentiss' heart to see her this way, and she slowly approached the spunky blonde.

"Penelope," she said softly, "It's bad. I know you want to be there for her, but I can't let you see this. It's poison."

"You guys do it all the time," she argued.

"It's different when it's someone you don't know," Prentiss reasoned, blinking back a tear. She wished that it had been a stranger this time. She tried to pen it on one earlier, assuming that it was some sort of set-up, but she knew now that it wasn't. "Rossi and Reid will observe and they'll let us know what we need to know. I'll stay out here with you, but I need you to trust us. All of us."

"... You think she did it, don't you?" Hot tears were already streaming down Garcia's face. Prentiss didn't know what to say. Her stoicism was gone, and she knew that her composure would be next. Another tear, and this time she couldn't quite fight it back. A single droplet that slid down her cheek slowly was enough of an answer for Garcia. She released a deep sigh, then drew Prentiss in and used her shoulder as a tear catcher. All Prentiss could do was rub her back comfortingly, silently beginning to weep in a way that no one would notice.

She sat in the chair with a small smile on her face. It wasn't an unusual look for her, but the glint in her eye made it unsettling for both of the agents sitting on the other side of the table. They wouldn't admit it, but she could sense the anxiousness in both of them. It was a cold smile, a calculating one. The one possessed by a soul that could kill in the blink of an eye and not even care. No feeling, no conscience, no nothing. Hotchner slid a picture of Felecia Reedy towards her. She nodded her head matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I killed her. Stabbed her... 27 times," she said, pretending to count it out on her fingers.

"Why," Morgan asked. "This isn't you at all."

"It isn't? That's news to me. Hm... Well, now that I think about it, I guess the 27 stabs are a little messy for my taste, but you've got to mix it up a little bit. Variety is the spice of life."

Hotchner slid another picture towards her. This time it was Matthew Jareau.

"Aw, Daddy dearest. I can feel a tear coming to my eye just thinking about shooting him in the mouth." The only thing was, there was still nothing but the calculating smile and cold eyes. Ice cold, like the shade of planet Neptune.

"Staged suicide, you know," she continued, "Easy to get away with when the _victim_ spent most of his time under the combined forces of alcohol and antidepressants." She sneered at the word 'victim,' as if it was a false label. Hotchner shook his head in disgust, his eyes not meeting hers.

"The glaring authoritarian of the BAU can't even bare to look at me. What a feat I've accomplished! And we haven't even gotten started yet!" She grinned, rubbing her hands together in anticipation for more. Morgan rose in anger, but Hotchner raised a hand.

"Sit," he said calmly before placing another picture in front of her.

"On to Julie Jareau, I see. So it's a family affair. I got her, too. About ten years later. Daddy needed to be eliminated as quickly as possible. Mom... she needed to suffer a bit." Her voice didn't change its tone. There was no sense of emotion what so ever. Hotchner finally looked up to the eyes. The eyes of a person that he once had so much respect for. Now all he felt was contempt.

"How," he asked quietly. "Our team should have been able to see something."

She cackled mockingly. "Ha! I suppose you are right, though. I left bread crumbs for you, and you still never expected a thing."

Both men gave her a quizzical look.

"Oh, do I need to explain it further for the lil' profilers? Ok. Let's start with Morgan and Reid. That little story I told them about why I was afraid of the woods as a child..."

"No," Morgan gaped, not believing what he knew he was about to hear.

"Yup. I lie pretty well, as you guys are probably both figuring out, but not that well. He was my first. His name was Russell Carter. He was a 27-year-old camp counselor. I was a fifteen-year-old girl, but I guess I knew a little bit more about _Conium maculatum_ than I should. Since Reid isn't around, I'll go ahead and clarify that as hemlock."

Morgan sat in stunned silence. She grinned slyly, enjoying the exact reaction that she had been hoping for. The adrenaline of dominance coursed through her veins, and she wasn't done yet.

"There should have been some signs, though," Hotchner said. "Other signs. Signs pointing towards you being a psychopath. You couldn't hold that back every day. It isn't possible."

"I didn't," she admitted. "I would typically take it out away from work, if you know what I mean. And the power trips that I got from watching you guys have me right under your nose and not even know it... What a rush! However, there were days that I showed hints. That whole little speech about caring too much or being jaded. Remember that one, don't you, Hotch?"

_You've got to be kidding me, _he thought.

"Faked it. Also faked every time that I appeared to care about a victim. It was all part of the game. I never cared. Feeling jaded should have been a hint, but you were too oblivious to notice."

Hotchner's face was a concrete wall. No emotion, a hard line where his mouth typically was. _Keep your composure, _he thought. _Playing this game with her only gives her the satisfaction she's hoping for._

"How many?"

"Over fifty since joining the BAU. I've kept the files away from you guys, but I had all of them. Every single case had been reported to the BAU, but you would have never known. The joys of picking the cases for the team. I gave you a freebie by making this last case one of my murders. I'd figured I'd give you a fighting chance, and you finally figured it out. I'm proud of you guys, though I had my doubts that you were ever going to discover the real me."

"That's it," Morgan exclaimed, throwing his chair back.

"Ooh," she taunted. "Is he going to hit me, Hotch? Rough up a defenseless lady? Didn't think that was your style, Derek Morgan."

"Sit," Hotchner repeated. Morgan gritted his teeth, but did as told.

"Good dog," she scoffed. He clinched a fist in fury, but stayed seated.

"How many? I know you have an exact number."

She smiled sweetly. Sickeningly sweet. "You think you know everything, don't you? However, this time you are right. Go ahead and pat yourself on the back. Eighty-seven. Sixty-eight of those came after joining the BAU. I've left all sixty-eight files in the bottom-right drawer of my desk. The key is buried in the fertilizer of the indoor plant. There's only one, so you really can't miss them. Have fun putting together the pieces on the other nineteen. You've already knocked out two with my parents, and I've given you Russell Carter on a platter. But that's all the charity you get. You're on your own for the other sixteen. I'll take my lawyer now."

Hotchner placed a cell phone on the table and stood. Morgan stood and followed him toward the door.

"Oh, and Hotch, one more thing... Tell Prentiss and Garcia hi for me. I suppose I can tell Reid and Rossi myself." She winked toward the glass separating them from the observation room and waved cheerily.

He would ask how she knew who was in the observation room, but why should that make sense, either. None of it made sense. How could he continue to do his job if he overlooked something this major while it took orders from him for over five years? How could any of them do their jobs with anything remotely close to confidence after this ordeal? For once in his life, Aaron Hotchner felt like he didn't have any of the answers. The truth was, none of them did.


End file.
